


The Displaced Ones

by BlooBlues



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Original Character(s), Whovian in Whoniverse, slowburn romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-16 21:21:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4640658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlooBlues/pseuds/BlooBlues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She read about this—oh, how she read—about adventures in the whole of time and space, about love and heartbreaks, about kinship lost and found, and the running—the running! Adrenaline coursing through your entire system, excitement or fear or both keeping the muscles and bones of your legs moving despite the burning sensation of fatigue. It was, after all, what the Doctor did best. Running.</p><p>And she read about the girls too, the displaced ones. Those who were pulled, sucked, thrown out of their dimensions against their will—those who wholeheartedly welcomed the opportunity and came charging forwards and never stopped. She read about the light, the fissure, the crack, the vortex manipulator that brought them to a world so like yet so unlike their own, spent hours upon hours lost in a collection of letters and punctuation, relishing in the emotions each word triggered.</p><p>But not once did it ever cross her mind that all this might just be possible.</p><p>The Doctor/Original Female Character. Sloooooowburn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Displaced Ones

**The Displaced Ones**

 

**Chapter 1: Wrong, Wrong, Wrong**

 

Lucia Harper woke up that day with a funny taste in her mouth. It was neither sweet nor sour, nor bitter, nor salty, nor spicy, and certainly not caused by morning breath. The unfamiliar flavor was sharp, tingly, and—with a smack of her tongue—she decided that it must’ve come from a beverage. Adamant on staying despite a round of vigorous brushing, she gave up and settled on breath mints instead. Whatever she drank yesterday evening left a terribly strange aftertaste, and she was determined to never consume it again…once she figured out exactly what it was. She popped a candy in her mouth and promptly spat it back out to her hand. That was…that was… _disgusting!_ She threw the little metal can away. _Must’ve expired without me noticing._ She brushed her tongue again, using extra toothpaste this time, but it was futile. The brushing just spread the slightly-tangy-but-not-exactly flavour around.

**_Taste, that was the first to change._ **

She checked the hourly weather forecast and dressed for sunny weather. Her weather app insisted that today was relatively safe from bad weather, with only a ten percent chance of rain. Summer thunderstorms were so commonplace in Iowa City, Iowa, and the worst part was that the residents of the small town rarely receive ample warning to seek for shelter just by looking at the clouds, because the actual downpour was a smaller problem than the wind and lightning. _Today should be safe._ Not wanting to miss out on the sun, she packed her books and decided to walk to the university today.

The moment she stepped out of her apartment felt like a blow to her gut and lungs as she tried desperately not to cough. She clutched her midsection to calm the butterflies that barged in, identifying the emotion as _dread,_ because the air was all _wrong._ Heavier. Scratchy. The scent too—a mix of exhaust and sweat and perfume. The smell of busyness and business and “I-have-no-time” and it made her dizzy for a moment, triggering memories created far away from this small town. Her nose certainly didn’t anticipate this barrage of smell, because she was quite certain that it was city air she was breathing in. This was how big cities were supposed to smell like. Not here. Not this place.

 _Humid._ That was the word she was looking for. The air was heavy because it was humid, and her nose caught another gradually strengthening scent.

 _Petrichor._ The smell of rain. An image of Amy repeating the word in her mind brought a smile to her face. One of her favorite episodes. _Petrichor._ Her smile disappeared as her lungs adjusted to breathing in the different air.

**_Then smell._**

_I’m being dramatic,_ she scolded herself. _Probably coming down with something._ But the nagging feeling wouldn’t disappear. She released her hold on her waist, butterflies still frantically fluttering about in her stomach. She took a few steps away from her door, and that was all she could do before the sense of something _wrong_ invaded her again. This time the butterflies were joined by a blaring alarm in her head; her fingers wandered to her temple and pressed down on various places to ascertain that she hadn’t accidentally injured herself in her sleep. Knocked herself on the headboard or something. Could a concussion cause symptoms like this?

 _I don’t move when I sleep._ There must be some instances when she did. _I don’t move when I sleep._ Might’ve been caused by a nightmare. _I.don’t.move.when.I.sleep._ The argument with herself did nothing to ease her building terror, so she took two deep breaths, inhaling the _wrong_ air.

 _I’m coming down with something. Must be,_ she rationalized. _No need to panic. Need to calm down. Have to make it to class in time._ She took another step, her foot returning down to the ground with a solid tap, hearing the crunch of stone rubbing against stone as pebbles and the pavement fought against each other under her outsole.

 _Petrichor,_ her mind reminded her. Swallowing her unease, Lucia looked down towards the light grey pavement. It was dry. Her head whipped around to look at the leaves, the grass, the cars— _dry_. It couldn’t have rained. She knew it hadn’t.

 _The Baxtons must’ve watered their garden._ That was probably it. The family who lived in the house next to the apartment was made up of avid gardeners, and their front yard had won several community awards. The children usually watered the garden before going to school. As she visualized it, she swore she could feel little sprinkles of water splashing on her skin. The student sighed and hugged herself. It was getting cold.

“Are you alright?” She jumped at the sudden feeling of a hand on her shoulder, causing the other person to step back. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. I was worried cause you’ve been standing here a while. Dizzy? Do you have anemia?” It was a woman. Lucia knew she lived around here. She jogged with her Labrador every morning when the weather permitted. The Lab who was currently impatiently waiting for his owner to continue running, tapping his signature, dense “otter” tail on the dry ground.

 _Yes,_ she wanted to say. _Dizzy. Scared. Confused…Wrong._

“I’m fine,” she gave the woman her most convincing grin, “just thought I forgot something at home.” Not her best lie, but it was enough to send the woman away with her Golden Retriever. Alarms like police sirens, booming, shrieking. Her brain sparked, sending electrical impulses to jolt her whole body. _Labrador._ She shook her head and watched the runners, especially the smaller one with the bushy tail and a well-groomed long coat that swayed with each step. _Wrong breed. Wrong dog._

 _Easy to mix up the two. So similar._ With that thought as a mantra she took another few steps away from her apartment only to notice how heavy her limbs were to lift, and stifled down a shriek as she saw that her clothing was drenched. She could feel it. Each droplet of water falling onto her skin, soaking her clothes; she could feel it, but she could not see the rain.

**_Touch, sight._**

_What’s happening?_ Her eyes teared up as her mind couldn’t process the strange events that had been unfolding since this morning. She turned around to go home, only to gape at the sight before her. Her apartment was no longer there; in fact, there was no longer a building at all. She stood at the outskirts of a large park filled with people in raincoats and umbrellas. The sun was still shining, the sky itself clear of any clouds, but the ground—the _soil—_ beneath her feet were slowly turning into mud. Tentatively, she moved her head to get a glance of what lay behind her…and wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or utterly terrified.

 _What’s happening?_ There was her neighborhood. Her street. Mrs. DeMoss, the recent widow, was waving at her from her front lawn, not even ten steps away, her mouth moving but not saying anything.

“No classes this morning?” The sentence was caught by her ears with noticeable delay. Mrs. DeMoss said that seconds ago—why was she hearing it just now? Her lips had stopped moving by the time she _heard_ what she said. Lucia could feel her brain imploding.

 _Sick. I’m sick, and I’m hallucinating._ Because Mrs. DeMoss didn’t seem concerned that a building disappeared and was replaced by a park, everything she was smelling, feeling, seeing…they couldn’t be real. Mrs. DeMoss would be in shock. The jogger—she didn’t see it either. Her dog couldn’t have changed breeds in a blink. The elderly woman’s lips moved again; Lucia couldn’t hear her. She waited this time. It took longer, but the words eventually came.

“You don’t look so well, dear.”

“Mrs. DeMoss,” her voice trembled, her whole body was shaking in an effort to stay put. She wanted nothing more than to run over there and ask for help, but if she moved over there, would Mrs. DeMoss’s house disappear too? Like hers?

 _No, just a hallucination. She can help. Ask her._ No other word came out of her mouth. It was as if her throat was constricted from inhaling too much of the _wrong_ air with the _wrong_ smell. Unshed tears blurred her vision; she could barely make out that Mrs. DeMoss was making her way towards her in concern, crossing the street in a hurry. Lucia heard it before she saw it, the rumbling of multiple engines with one in particular standing out because it was getting louder and louder until finally it appeared on the corner of her eye—a red bus, heading straight towards Mrs. DeMoss.

 _She doesn’t see it. It can’t be real because she doesn’t see it; she doesn’t hear it,_ she tried to convince herself. The bus showed no signs of stopping, and neither did Mrs. DeMoss. _It’s not real. Can’t hurt her if it’s not real._ She closed her eyes, finally letting the tears fall, as she clenched the edge of her t-shirt in frustration. _It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not—_

 _Wet._ Her fingers felt it. Her clothes were wet, even though it wasn’t raining. Her eyes saw water trickling down as her hand wrung the drenched cloth and the ground beneath her was suddenly concrete again, darkened by little circles where the water from her t-shirt fell. At that moment, seeing the water from her hallucination affecting the _real_ pavement, her stomach dropped.

 _It’s…real._ She didn’t know how she knew, but her attention was drawn back to Mrs. DeMoss, the woman walking down the street to help her. The woman who was seconds away from being hit by a bus.

 _The bus_ , she realized with horror as she bolted towards Mrs. DeMoss, _the bus is real!_

It happened so fast.  

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! Bloo here. I hope you are thoroughly confused and don't understand a thing that is happening because that is what I was going for (yeah right). Seriously though, I do hope you are confused as well as intrigued. This is a very rough first draft and I will most likely revise it later on. I just wanted to know how people will react to this story. Thanks for giving it a chance and reading to the end!
> 
> UPDATE:
> 
> I have just replaced this chapter with a new, edited, and therefore hopefully cleaner version. I've also made minor tweaks to the formatting. Hopefully now it is easier to read. 
> 
> Cheerio!


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